WOTD:  Perchance to Dream
by Guardian Kysra
Summary: here is something in the air, warm and chaotic and heavy and shifting. It feels like change. "So, at the risk of admitting how much I don't know about you. What are you dreams?"  Follows Returning Home.  SpeedyMel


**Author's Note; **I fully admit that I cheated on this one. I had had the BULK of this one sitting prettily in my email drafts box for a long time when suddenly I get a word of the day that fit it perfectly so I wrapped up the snippet and posted it as a WOTD fic. Therefore, this is not a first draft in the grandest sense of the word. It's BARELY edited.

Again, here is my imaginary OTP in a Fableverse-like 'verse. I guess we could call it the Alter!Fableverse. Also, this (multipart) snippet actually follows a little somethin' somethin' that will be posted at a later date.

**Perchance to Dream**

**A Word of the Day Ficlet**

By Kysra

A sharp intake of breath and then, "Wow."

The swish and rustle of cloth against skin then the hollow sound of feet stepping into shoes. "I'd take that as a compliment accept I know you're imagining how to get me out of it."

A sharp grin tempered by wounded green eyes. "I'm hurt you'd think so little of me." A pause. "I knew you'd look gorgeous in blue. Brings out your eyes."

Hop, hop, hop and the clasping of hands. "Princess Neechan is bootimus, ne ne ne?"

"You're more beautimous, Vicky-dear." Her smile beams down on the spore, and it's bright enough to light the room.

He lowers to the child's level. "What she said, spore."

"But Princess Neechan! Why is Uncle Roy here?"

"Aw, Baby Wonder, don't you like me anymore?"

"Can't play with Princess Neechan if you're here, Uncle Roy-Roy!" Jumpy, jumpy, jumpy. Hop.

A sigh and a beat. "We're going out to dinner, Vicky; but I promise to be back to tuck you in."

Big, baby eyes and sticky hands catch and hold as powder blue fabric is maneuvered just in time. "Story too?"

"Story too." The Smile turns softer, warmer and he suddenly wants her lips so badly it's literally painful.

"What? You like her more than me?"

Pigtails bob and the little body squirms. "Yes." And then, "Don't be silly Uncle Roy." He's still trying to figure out what that means when he notices a new presence.

The boy is there now and a battle of wills commences as feminine hands grasp purse and shawl and smooths over errant strands. "Bye Jonny. Tell your mom and dad that I should be back by curfew."

A little nod and wave at the woman. A little glare at the man.

The man takes a breath and gaily starts, "Well, if it isn't -"

"- the red-headed step-child." There it is. That evil grin splashed across such an angelic face.

Spluttering erupts as he stands to his considerable height and points a finger only to be pushed out the door by the vision in blue. "Why you little -"

"That's enough boys. Goodnight, kids!"

The door slams, and they are (finally) on their way.

They do not reach the restaurant by car or motorcycle or beast-of-burden or train or bus. "I can't believe you didn't warn me we were walking to the restaurant. I would have chosen more comfortable shoes."

"I like those shoes. They make your legs look -"

"Can you just PRETEND to be decent?"

"That's your bag, not mine, sweet lips."

A sigh as blue eyes take in the empty, rain slicked street. They walk - reluctantly - arm-in-arm, shoes scuffing the pavement. "So where are we going?"

"You'll see when we get there."

"Hhhhmmm."

A cluck of the tongue and pat of her hand, "I noticed you deal well with the kids."

"You sound shocked."

"I shouldn't be? Even you have to admit they are more than a handful. Between Vicky's hyperactivity and Jon's . . . abrasiveness, I don't know what's worse."

This time she pats his hand, shooting a condescending side-long look. "Jonny's only like that with you; and how soon you forget, I've been raising two super-powered boys - one of which can make the earth quake just by getting angry while the other can chew anything then turn it into a lethal projectile - since I was in diapers. Vicky and Jonny are easy compared to those two."

A measuring look then a sigh. "You really are an interesting girl, Melvin."

Her mouth is a straight line and her eyes stare ahead. "Thanks, I think."

A free hand ducks into the folds of a dinner jacket and reappears grasping a delicate looking sprig of sweet briar. "Forgot to give you this at the door."

Blue eyes are wide as her lips dip into a hesitant smile and she plucks the flower from his hand. "Thank you . . . " Her mouth is open for a few moments, struggling with thoughts that may not be appropriate in words.

He grins down at her. "I thought they might suit you. From what Raven tells me, they symbolize -"

"Simplicity." For the first time, ever, she smiles at him.

"Yeah." His free hand is at the back of his neck, running up through his hair. His eyes are searching out a place to settle and sweat has broken out along his brow.

A giggle suddenly breaks the awkward silence, "Well, that was unexpected."

"I am a nice guy, you know."

"Jury's still out on that one, Speed-bump."

"Well, then, I guess I'll just have to build a sound argument and plead my case."

"One flower - no matter how thoughtful - doesn't make up for the abuses of the past."

His look, intense and focused as it is, freezes her in place as his hand takes the little pink blossom and places it behind her ear. "Maybe not; but up until just now, I wasn't even aware the jury was still in deliberation."

A tug on her arm, a slight, barely-there stumble and they are on their way again. This time, he is leading and she is dumbfounded at her own glaring mistake.

"Wow, I wasn't expecting a restaurant that requires a reservation." Her eyes take in the tasteful decor, the smartly dressed host and wait staff, and dim lighting.

"I'm full of surprises, babe."

A wary gaze as a hand is offered and she reluctantly steps closer. "Is that -"

"A string quartet, yes. A little bird told me you like the classics."

Her startled gaze is piercing and direct. "I really don't appreciate you investigating me." She accepts as he pulls out her chair but stiffens when his fingers brush her shoulder through the flimsy material of her shawl.

"Well, I tried getting information directly from you but -"

"Your delivery needs work," the tone is cutting, final.

He snickers under his breath as he takes his own seat and orders a bottle of white wine. "I'll take that under advisement."

Her gaze turns accusing suddenly, manicured nails (a strange opalescent color that makes him think of pearl necklaces of a different sort), "You're acting . . . weird."

"I'm not acting at all. You once asked me if I knew how to carry a casual conversation. I'm trying to prove to you that I can."

Cotton candy lips fold in then 'pop' and settle into a smirk that is sassy and young and so, so - "Charitable of you."

"I aim to please." There is something in the air, warm and chaotic and heavy and shifting. It feels like change. "So, at the risk of admitting how much I don't know about you. What are you dreams?"

The words are spoken with a hint of amusement, haughty and light; but she blanches as if he has just told her he was holding her favorite pet hostage. He pauses in pouring her wine, "Melvin?"

Blue eyes fill with life again as she blinks, long and meditatively, her head shaking softly, ruffling the long, long blonde hair. "Sorry. I don't dream."

It wasn't what he meant; but he is intrigued nonetheless. "Is that a result of your power?"

"Yes and no." Her mouth is pressed into a pale line and her eyes bow to the table. "You know how it all works right?"

"As well as anyone I suppose. I got the report just like the rest of the command centers."

A hesitant nod, fingers twiddling upon the table top. "Well, I can't control it when I'm not conscious. Of course, no one knew it was a problem until I hit puberty and my dreams got . . . very detailed." Blue eyes, bright flames, dart up to meet his for a moment of anger. "And it's not what you think. I rarely ever dreamed about anything remotely pleasant."

"I thought you said you didn't dream."

"What I meant was that I can't afford to; but - like I said - I can't control it . . . and we've tried a slew of different methods to get it all under control but as I get older, it's harder for me to tap down on it so, right now we're trying exhaustion therapy coupled with brain wave monitoring when I sleep."

She suddenly looks weary to him, small and vulnerable and . . . tired. "Exhaustion therapy?"

"Yes, a human brain can function . . . somewhat - even after seven days of full-blown insomnia. After that it shuts itself down and usually - at that point - it doesn't have the capacity to dream."

Green eyes light with a fire of their own, "You're telling me that you aren't allowed to sleep?"

"Every week or so. I'm actually on day 6 of this cycle now. So -"

"That's barbaric! Isn't there something else you could try? Maybe track down the origin of your power -"

Her face becomes frosty and slightly panicked. It gives him pause, makes him feel the need to be gentle with her. She looks as if she's about to run. "My parents did this to me." Her voice is a serpentine hiss of anger and regret and too many other things that makes his stomach tie in knots and his palms itch of his bow.

"You never talk about them. Neither do the boys. Actually, no one does, now that I think about it."

"They don't deserve to be mentioned." And he can guess the story. He knows those people were working for Brother Blood. Knows they probably saw their children as opportunities for scientific advancement within the organization rather than precious things to protect. He remembers she mentioned she never has pleasant dreams. He wonders exactly how damaged she really is when she seems so poised all the time.

"Can I tell you something without you getting all . . . you?" Her voice is small and tired, so tired, breathy as if it's taking all her energy to speak.

He smiles for her, wondering distantly if he should make arrangements to visit her parents in their maximum security prison cell. "I make no guarantees."

"Huh," her face softens just a bit, into an expression he knows, "You were right about one thing, about my boyfriend."

"Was I?"

"I can't talk to him about this. He often asks me to sleep over and I can't because even if it's a sleep day I have to be monitored. Kinda kills the mood, ya know?"

The waiter comes and he orders for her because he can. She glowers at him a moment before that soft looks is back and her hands fold into her lap. He wonders at the change, but says nothing about it. "You realize it's bad form to talk about one man when you're with another."

"And you realize it's bad form to lie."

Green eyes widen as he presses a hand to his chest, mockingly incredulous. "When have I ever?"

That soft expression deepens into a soulful smile that radiates and brings life back into her cheeks. She leans casually into her palm, an elbow propped up to support her. "You were asking what were my goals, right?"

A light, good-natured shrug. "You're tired. It happens. And might I add that I didn't lie. I just allowed you to answer on the assumption of a pun."

She laughs a little then slumps the inches to rest her forehead against the propped hand. "I can't believe I'm saying this but - once you stop being an ass - you're actually pretty easy to talk to."

"Again - You're tired. It happens." The amused smile is on full force and he winks for good measure, thrilling just a bit when she giggles and swats at him playfully.

They talk, and - when the band begins to play - they dance, his hands never straying into dangerous territory (for once) and her head upon his shoulder, dozing slightly under the weight of sleep deprivation. It is warm and he thinks this sort of intimacy might be good for him. She's only just begun to ponder the idea that - should he continue to behave in this manner - she might actually want to call him a genuine friend.

Dinner passes without mention of dreams or her parents or sex, but he finds that he doesn't need the innuendo screen with her. She's more beautiful when she laughs - he decides, particularly when she's laughing with him.

"I've always wondered . . . "

"No, I'm not telling you my bra size."

The flash of teeth, a grin. "Tch, now who's mind is in the gutter?"

"Sorry, temporary insanity. Apparently it's contagious."

This time the grin opens into a full out laugh. "I was wondering about Bobby."

"Ah." She's teetering back and forth upon a kiddie swing, he standing nearby with one foot hooked into the seat of the neighboring swing under a canopy of night. "Bobby was originally an invention of my nightmares . . . I was five or six. Mother used to lure me into the lab with teddy bears, dolls, and other toys; and even thought it didn't take me long to understand the procedure, I started having these nightmare about the bears, dolls, toys - whatever - as monsters."

Silence. She sighs, "One night, I dreamt about Bobby and woke up to find him pounding down the walls of my room."

Their eyes meet and hold and he wants to reach out and touch; but she looks down again, to her bare feet cradled in the grass. "I immediately directed my thoughts to control him and he's been my constant companion ever since."

Wordless - but not for long, he takes the vertical chains in hand and begins to push her, the squeak and click of the metal seeming to echo in the night, drowning out the crickets. "So, if you can control Bobby while asleep - why not the rest of your dreams."

"Who said I can control Bobby while asleep?"

He sighs and she follows the example before, "You must be bored when everyone else is in dreamland."

For a moment, her grasping hands are under his and though he wants nothing more than to linger, he is a strategist and understands that such a move will only lose him precious ground. "Well, when school was in I would use the time to get ahead in my studies."

A pause. "I'm valedictorian, you know."

He smiles, feeling indulgent and prideful. He's known her as a child, after all. Perhaps not as well as he could have; but that doesn't lessen the joy he feels in response to her own. "Rob and Rae mentioned it a few hundred times."

Even as she swings into the air, skirt fluttering about her thighs, her head turns toward him slightly for a glimpse of her laughing mouth. "I can just imagine."

His answering laugh is as honest as it has ever been. "I just bet you can."

Feet, bare and pale, drag in the grass to a sudden stop. Hands, previously occupied with pushing at her shoulders, grasp at thin forearms to steady her, tangling in tussled blonde strands. "Seriously, you're freaking me out by being so nice."

"You're kinda freaking me out by being so open."

Swing chain twists, forming a triangular perch framing her body as she faces him, rocking back and forth again under the force of her feet pushing at the ground. "I don't have any secrets from the Titans."

There is something indescribable and full in her voice as she speaks, something that makes him feel small and overwhelmed. He smiles for her - a real one, without the cocky undertones or the sharp edges of mockery. "I'm pretty honored you trust me that much."

"I'd trust you with my life. That's something totally different than trusting you with my virtue." Her eyes seems to glow as they catch a nearby street lamp, and he's nearly shocked to find that he hasn't become preoccupied by her body in record breaking time.

The clearing of a suddenly dry throat, "So, what do you plan on doing tonight?"

A blink. "I'm sorry?"

"Tonight. You said you usually stay awake doing school work, but your graduation is in two days. What do you plan on doing tonight?"

"Oh. I'm not quite finished my speech yet, so I'll probably be finishing that up."

Her voice becomes slurred slightly, and he realizes she's more tired than he had previously believed. "You should have told me about all of this beforehand. I would have waited."

She smiles up at him, as honest a smile as he's ever seen from her. "It's fine. Life doesn't stop just because I'm two seconds from keeling over." She pulls herself to standing, slipping into her shoes, and taking his offered hand without hesitation then looping her arm through his. It's a small thing but it feels him with something . . . innocent and sweet.

It's not spoken that they should go. She's made promises she must keep, and he would rather not find himself on the receiving end of Vicky's ire; but there are still blocks between them and her temporary home, and he is only slightly surprised that he doesn't really want to say goodnight.

"You never did answer my earlier question."

"Which one is that? You've been giving me the third degree all night."

He snickers with good-humor, deciding she sounds more exasperated than anything. "What are your dr - goals?"

"Ah." Her features smooth over into that soft smile that beguiles him so. "Well, I've met with Uncle Bruce's lawyers a few times and had the papers drawn up to adopt my brothers. It won't be official until my birthday; but soon enough I'll be their legal guardian and all that entails. I also managed to buy a small house on this street - we passed it a few blocks ago - with my parents' money. We're set to move in after Timmy and Teether finish the school year."

It's the first he's heard of it. "You're moving here? I wonder why no one mentioned this to me."

Her answering look, when it comes, is hilarious and he just barely refrains from laughing. She ignores him, pushing on. "As for after all of that . . . I've been offered scholarships to a few universities - most of them far away from here, and I know Robin and Raven would like to me to make the most of those opportunities."

"But?"

A side-long look and shiver. "But, I'm rather looking forward to being a family again, all of us in once place, in an actual HOUSE." Her free hand massages at her forehead. "All things considered, I'm not sure what I want to do."

A light tut, fingers combing through the long, long ends of her hair, trailing down her now-tense back. "Have you thought of joining the Titans?"

"Yes."

"And you aren't going to join." It is a statement. He is that sure of her answer though he's not quite sure why. He has never pictured her as the type to enjoy the superhero life.

She relaxes slightly though he is still touching her hair, her baby smooth skin. "It wouldn't be . . . prudent. My ability is unstable. All it would take is a mild mind altering drug and the world as we know it could come to an end."

Green eyes widen in shock. "Seriously?"

She nods calmly, watching the sidewalk ahead. They are near the Grayson home now, the lights in the windows visible from their position. "Wanna know why my parents chose this particular power for me?"

He doesn't answer, he can guess - has thought about it. Her brothers' abilities are inherently destructive; however, hers . . .

"Can you imagine being able to think your enemies dead?"

"No, but I do know that even if things had turned out differently, you wouldn't have become what they were trying to make you into. I've been on the receiving end of your iron will."

Her mouth bows into a smile so full of gratitude, he's momentarily stunned; and when he comes to his senses again, they are moving a little slower and she's once again tucked into his side. Six house, five houses, four . . .

Hard-won companionable silence is broken by the scrape of her heels upon the pavement and the light rustling of leaves in the fall chill. Their breath is visible in little clouds and where their sides meet is warmth. "You know, you're not so bad when you act like a human being." Her voice is soft and airy and somewhat hoarse with want of sleep, yet her eyes are wide and alert as she looks up at him.

"Not too bad for someone you very nearly hate, right?" His grin is tight and punctuated with a playful hip bump. She - however - turns serious and adorably earnest.

"I don't hate you, Roy. I hate my parents. You're not even close to being in league with them."

Deciding to side-step the dark in her words, he pulls her a little closer and tilts his head, a sidelong glance that is equal parts impish and lustful. "Does that mean I get a kiss tonight?"

Her nose scrunches up and again that somewhat painful wanting for her mouth. "No."

"Not even a peck?"

"No."

"So cold." He mock shivers and laughs when she reaches out to smack his arm.

She halts midstep and pulls him to a stop as well with gentle force. He looks at her, confused at the sudden fierce seriousness snapping in her spark-blue eyes. "I'm not cold. I simply know that I deserve better than to be viewed and treated like a sex object."

His thinks his heart has stopped, the laughter definitely does. "I don't view you as a sex object."

Her blue eyes are piercing twin lances that seem to x-ray his soul. "I know you don't."

She doesn't validate the observation, and - for once - he knows better than to ask outright. They are in front of the Grayson house, and it's seconds before they can hear Vicky's muffled crow of delight that "Melly-Jelly is here!"

Green eyes shine with mirth, "Melly-Jelly?"

"Vicky has discovered rhyming."

He snickers, "I need to remember to teach her Banana-Rama."

Blue eyes answer his amusement. "Raven will kill you."

"Worth the risk, I'd say. Wouldn't you?"

She just shakes her head slowly, chuckling under her breath before suddenly sliding her arms about his torso and pressing up against his warmth. "Goodnight, Roy."

He doesn't return the embrace - not really. His hand strays to the back of her head for just a split second before she's gone and the cold returns to his limbs. Her mouth is still bowed into that heart-palpitating smile as she opens the door and steps over the threshold.

His own expression lifts slightly in a returning smile, just as soft, though there is mischief in his eyes. "See you, Mel."

Vicky's little feet are hammering toward them but the blonde teen quickly steps out again, softly shutting the door behind her. He's stunned again - she seems to be talented at making him feel so - and practically breathless when she takes his hands, lifts up on her toes, and presses her lips to his cheek.

The contact is sweet and short and tangible as a ghost of pressure, light, and appleblossom; and when she rocks back on her heels, her hand is already stopping his mouth as she says, "Don't say anything." And then, she leans up again to whisper against his ear, "You deserve better than what you allow yourself too, Roy."

She's gone then with a brief flash of blue, blue eyes and the click of a closing door. He stands for a few moments, watching and waiting for something. What? He doesn't know; but he's filled with a familiar aching emptiness that is at once less empty than usual and warmer than he remembers.

And then he smiles a bit, rubbing his cheek and hoping that he'll dream a little dream for her.

_Word: Noetic_


End file.
